


Confessions and Crocodiles

by lost_spook



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Press Gang
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Episode Tag, Gen, post-There Are Crocodiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either the Doctor is having a nightmare featuring an odd girl in pyjamas, or Lynda Day is having yet another weird dream, this one involving a chatty, skinny guy, or something even stranger is going on this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions and Crocodiles

**Author's Note:**

> From a suggestion made by the ever-inventive Pitry.
> 
> Set post _Waters of Mars_ for DW, post-series finale for Press Gang. (Therefore here be possible spoilers for the last episode.)

“So what are you?”

The Doctor pulled himself off the floor. “ _What_ am I? Well, that’s a long story, but right now we’ll go with confused. How about you?”

“Well, I thought this was another of my dumb nightmares, until you turned up. You’re new.”

“Old, actually, but something like that. You?”

He blinked in the gloom and made out a girl in front of him, wearing striped pyjamas and sitting on a sleeping bag.

“Lynda Day, Editor.”

He sat down opposite her, legs crossed. “And for some reason you think I’m intruding into your subconscious. Well – has been known.”

“Has been known?” she said. “I’ll say it has. Sometimes my life might as well be _A Christmas Carol_ and have done with it – only with less of the festive rubbish, and no happy endings.”

He paused. “If it’s any consolation, I’m definitely not a ghost or a spirit of Christmas past. Well, you never know actually, but it’s not something I’ve done yet.”

“I don’t think I’d dream _you_ ,” she said. “I must be awake.”

He put his head on one side. “Have existential issues a lot, do you?”

“Not generally,” she said. “Only in the middle of the night, or when I’m dead. And I hate that stuff.”

He stopped. “Dead?”

“I was dreaming,” she said. “And then I woke up. Or that was real and this is a dream. Look, yesterday was kind of confusing. If this is my dream, could you send Spike instead? I mean, I don’t see why I’ve got you this time, when he’s usually in all my other stupid dreams.”

The Doctor leant forward. “It might not be a dream.”

“It has to be,” said Lynda, “Given what I remember about yesterday, then either _that_ was all a dream, and the newsroom didn’t burn down, which I suppose would mean this could be real, but I don’t buy it. So the alternatives are: either I did die, and we’re both in hell or limbo, or this is a dream brought on by the near-death experience I had yesterday and, as usual, I’m mentally back in the undamaged newsroom in my pyjamas.”

He stopped. “Hell? What did you do?”

“That,” said Lynda, looking at him properly, “is an interesting question.”

“Is it?”

“Well, you didn’t say: ‘Hell? I’m a decent guy – I don’t deserve that!’, did you? If it’s true, I know why I’m here, even though I don’t think it’s exactly fair – so what about you? Murder someone, did you? Rob a bank?”

“What about me?” he returned. Then he lifted his eyebrows. “Hell’s new, though. Don’t think it is, somehow. Shouldn’t there be fire?”

Lynda shivered. “There’s fire.”

“And I think a more interesting question is: if the third option is true, how come I’m in your subconscious and what is going on?”

“That was _my_ other question. Whatever it is, I wish you’d go away.”

He grinned at her. “Lynda, did you say? Not with a _y_ by any chance?”

“As it happens, yes.”

“Then maybe you’re in _my_ subconscious.”

“Seriously? I doubt it.”

He grinned. “Now, that’s egocentric.”

“Well, it is my nightmare.”

“I’ve only got your word for that.”

She smiled “Trust me. I’m a devious, manipulative, egocentric, power-crazed bitch. Or at least, so my friends tell me.”

“Yeah, I’ve got friends like that,” he said. “And I’m – well – I’m a hero. Or sometimes not so much. In answer to your question, if we’re both in hell, yes, I know why I’d be here. And, yes, I’m a murderer – of sorts. And, yes, I’ve robbed a bank, although there were perfectly justifiable reasons and it was under duress, or sort of, or anyway, it seemed like a good idea at the time -. The fact is, if you saw me on a bad day, you’d _run_.”

“I doubt it,” put in Lynda, unimpressed. “I’m not in the habit of running away from things. That’s sort of my trouble, when you come down to it. I have to win.”

He grinned. “Snap. Or, I have a tendency to – I’m not sure it’s the same thing. Seriously, though: I’ve done terrible things. Crimes against the universe – arrogance – hurt the people I care about-.”

“Well, is that any reason to go on about it?” she said. “You’re sorry. So, do something. I can’t stand wet guys who sit around moping and moaning.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, wet? I’ve saved the planet more times than you’ve had breakfast – saved the universe, as a matter of fact. And that wasn’t moping, or moaning, by the way, that was me sharing a heartfelt confession, with you, which was obviously a waste of time-.”

“Exactly. Why would I want to hear it?”

The Doctor looked at her. “I’m beginning to see what your friends mean.”

She shrugged.

He moved forward, catching her gaze, despite her efforts to avoid that. “And if this is option one, and you _are_ dead: what are you going to do?”

“I’m not dead, okay? Stop saying that!”

The Doctor paused. “You don’t seem to be all that sure.”

“I don’t give in; I _won’t_ lose – and I’m not dead!”

He saw the look in her eyes and leant forward. “Most people I run into are a bit more certain about their existential status. Not all of them, mind, but definitely most”

“Ever have the feeling that you were always going to have to stop and pay for stuff someday?” she said, with a shrug. “Well, I do. I did. Only I sort of thought it would be a lot longer before I got to that bit.”

“Yes, if you want to know. It’s been chasing me around for a while. One of the reasons I do a lot of running.”

“Right,” she said. “And if I were confessing my sins – which I’m not, because that’s pointless and self-indulgent -.”

“Right. Yes. Completely. Utterly pointless and self-indulgent. Can’t stand people who do that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thing is, I kind of got used to having someone around to stop me being as bad as I could be, and that was lazy. Lazy and stupid. I get that.”

“I don’t know,” said the Doctor. “People. Drive you round the bend, but maybe you need them -.”

“Well, it’s a lot of use saying that when they’ve gone to Australia!”

He said, “Oh, talking specific people, are we?”

“Best friend,” said Lynda. “Annoying, dumb, Jiminy Cricket type.”

The Doctor frowned. “So you miss them?”

“Of course not!”

He said, “And who’s Spike?”

“If I am in hell, I’d rather not talk about Spike Thomson. In fact, I’d rather not talk about Spike Thomson, full stop. As it happens, Spike Thomson is the last person I ever want to talk about!”

“Right.”

“Although why he thinks he’s in a position to judge when he’s hardly perfect himself, the lying, shallow, hypocritical American -.”

“No, really, why all this I’m-dead-and-in-hell stuff?”

“David,” she said, shortly.

“Who’s he?”

“Only some complete jerk I happened to kill.”

He said, “Ah.”

“I open my mouth and say stuff,” said Lynda. “Sometimes people get hurt. Tough. That’s life, isn’t it? You can always apologise afterwards, if you really want to. Only sometimes they take a loaded shotgun and shoot themselves in the head and then there’s not much point in standing around saying _sorry_ then, is there?”

“Lynda. I’m sorry – I’m so -.”

“Shut up. And you can get out of my head, whoever you are.”

He said, “Know something? I’ve met a lot of power mad, crazed dictators – people who’ve done awful, dreadful things – murder, genocide, failure to do the washing-up, you name it. If you’re creating your own personal hell to punish yourself, I don’t think it’s time to worry. Not yet, anyway. Well, except that’s not exactly a healthy state of mind – bit morbid, so I’d stop it, if I were you. Take your own advice: do something.”

“I will,” said Lynda. “And, that’s a bit hypocritical, after everything _you_ said.”

He shrugged. “I can be a hypocrite if I want – no law against it, is there? And I happen to think I’ve done much worse things than you – plus, I’m a lot older, so show some respect.”

“That never works with me,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “I don’t see what age has got to do with respect.”

“Oh? Right, well, I’m also about a million times cleverer than you. In fact, I’m a genius.”

“Prove it!”

He shook his head. “Not right now. I’d rather see if I can’t get us out of wherever we are -.”

“That’s easy,” said Lynda. “All we have to do is wake up.”

“You weren’t joking when you said you do this a lot.”

She grinned. “No. Watch this!”

And she snapped her fingers in front of both of their faces.

*

Lynda sat up in her own bed and thumped back against the pillows and the headboard in relief. At least this nightmare hadn’t turned out to be real, although where that annoying skinny guy with the inflated ego had come from was beyond her. She was grateful _he_ wasn’t real.

“Well,” said a voice from the floor. “ _That_ was interesting.”

She widened her eyes and hugged the bedclothes to her, as she peered over the side. She was generally fearless, but there was something about the idea of anything being under the bed, even so. “I’m used to weird stuff happening in my head, but I think it’s only fair to say that if you’re actually in my bedroom, I’m worried. Got an explanation before I scream very loudly and throw things?”

“Well,” he said. “I seem to recall now that there was a Friisian -.”

“A _cow_?”

He paused. “No. An alien – nasty little things – saw it heading in through your window, and followed. Then I think it got both of us. Lucky you knew it was a dream, because it otherwise it’d have been trying to suck our brains out.”

“Well, I have had practice,” she said. “Of course, all that gibberish about hell and stuff – you do know that was only the dream, right? I didn’t mean any of it – and I _don’t_ need Kenny Phillips telling me what to do -.”

“And you don’t want to talk about Spike Thomson. Got it.”

She rested her chin on her hands. “Actually, if I’m not in hell, I don’t mind. He is kind of cute, after all.”

“Never mind your boyfriend – what happened to that Friisian – the alien?”

“Alien?” she said, catching up properly. “Is this anything to do with Colin? If it is, I’ll kill him.”

“I have no idea who Colin is,” said the Doctor. “Does he often make arrangements with passing alien invaders?”

“Well, it would explain a lot.”

The Doctor paused, suddenly, and listened. “Lynda,” he said. “Stay very still. I’m about to do something a bit -.” He pressed the button on the sonic screwdriver and there was a definite popping and squelching sound from under the bed. He withdrew, wincing at whatever it was he’d done. “…Messy.”

“Great,” said Lynda. “I was going to say, Mr Hypocrite, you’re not so bad yourself, but I’ve changed my mind. And where do you think you’re going?”

He paused, at the window. “Well, I think there’d be some awkward explanations if anyone found me in here, don’t you?”

“Wonderful,” said Lynda, as he disappeared, “another nightmare, a lunatic in my room, and now there’s something under my bed I don’t even want to think about. It’s not as if I haven’t got enough clearing up to do as it is.”

Suddenly a spiky brown head reappeared through the window. “On condition of you not turning out to be an intergalactic dictator, how would you fancy a tour round the solar system and back? I’ve sort of got a vacancy at the moment -.”

“Go away? With you?” said Lynda, wrinkling her nose. “Do you know how much work I’ve got to do to get the _Junior Gazette_ back on its feet?”

“That’s a no, then?”

“Yes!”

***


End file.
